


Trust Enough

by ineptshieldmaid



Series: Men of Honour [3]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Voyage of the Dawn Treader - C.S. Lewis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-02
Updated: 2008-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-10 15:39:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptshieldmaid/pseuds/ineptshieldmaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The third in the Men of Honour series - Lucy's quick thinking saves them from embarrassment on the Lone Islands; Edmund and Caspian settle some matters of personal and national import</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by Realpestilence.
> 
> I have chosen not to use archive warnings for my Narnia fic, because the ages and maturity levels of characters in Narnia don't map neatly onto our concepts of "underage" and "of age". You can find an explanation of my policy re: age of consent in fiction [here](http://ineptshieldmaid.dreamwidth.org/189551.html). This series explores issues of age and maturity in relation to sex and other relationships. I do not believe that the sexual relationship in this series exploits age related power disparities.

Edmund shut the door to Caspian's room and stood for a moment facing the wooden panel. Lucy and Caspian stood awkwardly behind him, not saying anything. Taking a deep breath, he turned around.

'Next time,' Edmund said quietly, 'introduce me as _Lord_ Edmund, and save us all this trouble.'

Caspian glowered at him, and Edmund allowed himself a tinge of satisfaction as he noted a faint flush on the older King's face, a flush not entirely caused by the evening's wine and feasting. Lucy's eyes drifted from one of them to the other, as if waiting to see which way they would jump.

'Come on, Ed,' she said, when it was clear neither he nor Caspian was going to say anything further. 'It's not so bad. Caspian and I will manage fine here, and at least we won't have to fend off any more proposals-' here, she gave Caspian a sly grin. 'I saw Lord Bern's daughter just now, and she's really quite pretty.'

'You're a brick, Lu,' Edmund gave his sister's shoulder a squeeze. 'Caspian here should worry less about freckles and squints and pray he can find a woman with half your pluck.' Again, that faint flush on Caspian's cheeks as Edmund was rewarded with Queen Lucy's most open-hearted smile. _She_, at least, had seen that it was hopeless to try to explain their position as mythological royalty to the Lone Islanders. Caspian had floundered around attempting to explain that yes, really, _he_ was King of Narnia, and this extra person was King Edmund, who was really a King but no, he didn't rule Narnia, and this here was Queen Lucy… Edmund had stood there fuming under disparaging comments about his youth, and _that_ comment about- well, they'd thought he was Caspian's… At any rate, Edmund had stood there thinking daggers at Caspian and hating the fact that once, he would have known exactly what to do here. If Caspian had been Peter…

And just as Caspian opened his mouth to make the whole situation worse with more explaining, Lucy had slipped her hand into the King's, and kissed his cheek, and called him 'husband'. Caspian had, fortunately, been too shocked to say anything, and Edmund had stood gently on Reepicheep's tail before the Mouse could put his foot in it. Twenty minutes later, and after some fast talking on Lucy's part, Edmund found himself King Edmund of the Woods, the last male descendant of High King Peter of Narnia and the leader of Old Narnia, established as a sort of titular King under Caspian's suzerainty. His sister Lucy was Caspian's Queen and  the loyalty of the Old Narnians to Caspian had been bought by their marriage. The deal, Edmund thought to himself, would probably have also included unspoken clauses about King Edmund of the Woods never marrying, and if Caspian was sensible, King Edmund of the Woods might just die heroically at sea, or maybe join Reepicheep in a noble quest to reach Aslan's country. In fact, in Edmund's estimation, Caspian would have done a good deal better to send Edmund of the Woods on this harebrained but noble expedition, and to have stayed at home himself. Although, if Edmund of the Woods had existed, he might have claimed the in his _own_ name, so perhaps that wouldn't have been such a good idea after all…

Edmund gave Lucy's shoulder another squeeze. 'That was brilliant work, Lu. Couldn't have asked for anything better- except maybe a little _common sense_ from His Majesty. At any rate, you and Caspian will _not_ "manage just fine" here, not as long as I'm your brother.' Here, Caspian bristled, and Lucy even looked a little hurt. 'At least they've given us a suite of rooms. Lu, you'll sleep here. Bolt both doors, we don't want servants coming in unannounced. _You_,' he turned to Caspian, 'will be sleeping with me. Although you'd better keep your things in here and try to look married. Not _too_ married, though,' he added, remembering the way Caspian had looked at Susan.

Edmund went to the connecting door and held it pointedly open. Caspian looked around hastily, as if looking for a way out, and contented himself with grabbing a handful of personal effects- combs, a fresh shirt, a small flask of perfume oil that had been laid out on the dressing table. _Perfume oil_. Edmund snorted audibly at that. Caspian bade Lucy goodnight, and stalked through the door into their sitting room. Edmund kissed his sister on the forehead, reminding her to bolt the doors, and followed the King.

He found Caspian, having set his things down on a side table, sitting on a couch and pulling his boots off. Edmund marched across their sitting room and held open the door to his own room, without saying a word. Caspian glared up at him.

'Thank you, Edmund of the Woods, but I shall be perfectly comfortable here tonight. I shall ask Lord Bern for a personal room tomorrow.'

'And what will the Lone Islanders think when they find the King of Narnia sleeping on the couch, his wife having locked him out of his bedroom?' Edmund raised one eyebrow. 'They'll bring our breakfast in here tomorrow, you know. And as for asking for a personal room, you would be within your rights. I believe it's standard in some countries that the King and Queen have their own rooms. You'd be wise to send _me_ elsewhere, however, and put up a show of marital harmony. If I had just sworn an oath to a king of a country I'd never seen, who'd not long established himself on the throne, I might be a little less sure of my wisdom if said _handsome_, _virile_ young monarch showed little interest in his _lovely_ young wife. And it's so _important_ that Queen Lucy of Narnia bear children- if King Caspian were to die now, Narnia might dissolve into civil war between the King's young cousin Tyrian and the Queen's brother Edmund of the Woods.'

Caspian was still sitting on the couch, his neck flushed red, glowering up at Edmund. Edmund stalked over and collected Caspian's belongings- including that ridiculous perfume- and the King's boots, and disappeared with them into his own room. Caspian, as he had expected, followed him, and even bolted the sitting-room door behind him. Edmund slid the bolt on the main door, remarking, as he did so, that if he were King Edmund of the Woods- which he supposed he was, now- he would probably have made contact with Caspian's aunt Prunaprismia, and would perhaps be considering a marriage alliance with her. Had Caspian considered that? Did he have someone keeping tabs on his aunt's correspondence?

'I suppose you want me to admit I was wrong,' Caspian said, hooking his thumbs into his belt. 'Alright, I made a mistake, and I'm most grateful for Lucy's quick thinking. Will you leave off now? King Edmund off the Woods doesn't even _exist_.'

Edmund sighed, and poured himself a mug of water from the night-stand. '_Do_ you have anyone keeping tabs on your aunt's correspondence, Caspian?' He drank, and poured another mug for the King, who took it, but didn't drink.

'Of course not! That wouldn't be honourable!'

'Drink,' Edmund ordered, 'you drank wine all night- you've a good head for it, I'll grant you that- but you'll be sore in the morning. Peter was just the same.'

'Stop ordering me about!'

'Drink the water, Caspian. Why haven't you got people watching your aunt's correspondence? You _do_ know where she lives and who visits her, don't you?'

'She lives with _me_, Edmund. In my castle.'

'Well, that's something. Makes it easier to have her watched.'

'What sort of man do you think I am, Edmund? I'm not going to spy on my own _aunt_.' Caspian downed the contents of the mug in one go, and shoved it back into Edmund's hand. Edmund put it down on the nightstand and seated himself on the bed, proceeding to lever off his boots. Caspian turned to follow him, standing over Edmund, tall and broad. Edmund wondered if this was supposed to be intimidating

'I suppose that's what your father said about his _brother_, was it?' Edmund kept his tone conversational, unbuckling his sword-belt as he did so. He was half-expecting the blow Caspian landed on his jaw, and responded instantly with a punch to the soft spot just below Caspian's ribcage. Caspian was unbalanced by bending down, and Edmund drove up underneath him and flipped him easily- Caspian hadn't been expecting him to fight back, he realised. All mouth and no guts, that's King Edmund for you. He pushed Caspian back onto the bed, kneeling between the older man's legs and bringing all his weight down onto Caspian's shoulders. They were, Edmund noted, shoulders equipped with very well-defined muscles- not just the swordsman's muscles he had once born himself, but the sheer brawn of the jouster. Caspian's legs felt massive on either side of him, and he realised that Caspian could flip him again, or punch him the jaw once more, or pull his knees up and trap Edmund's skinny boy's frame between his thighs, but Caspian wasn't fighting back.  Edmund stared down into the King's face for a moment.

'Damnit, Caspian,' he sighed, sitting back on his heels. 'What's more important: honour, or _Narnia_?'

Caspian levered himself up on his elbows, and gave Edmund a long look. There was a set to his jaw that reminded Edmund of Peter, as he said quietly: 'My honour is Narnia's, Edmund. And Narnia _is_ my honour.'

Edmund's chest tightened suddenly and his eyes stung. He swallowed, and there wasn't enough air in the room. Leaning forward, he kissed Caspian's brow in a sort of benediction.

'I don't know what fool thought one king was enough for any kingdom, but if that is how you feel, then I think you will be enough for Narnia.'

'Insolent young pup! I'll have you know I've been _enough_ for Narnia these past three years!'

Edmund laughed back, and gave the King a shove backwards. 'More than enough, it seems, if you can go gallivanting off into the Utmost East and say Narnia has 'never been better'!'

Caspian pulled on Edmund's wrist with one hand, dragging him down onto the bed, and with the other, shoved him sideways so that he fell to one side of Caspian. They lay regarding each other for a moment, and then Caspian sighed, as if conceding a point.

'I believe Trumpkin has people watching my aunt. I've told him that I don't want to know about it, and he just smiled and said he'd make sure I didn't know anything I didn't need to.'

Edmund found himself yawning, and cuddled down into the silken bedspread, his cheek resting on his palm. Caspian had one of Edmund's legs between his thighs, and Edmund debated whether there was a tactful way to remove it, and if he wanted to.

'And how much do you trust Trumpkin?' he asked, eyeing Caspian. 'How, for example, do you know that he's not in league with King Edmund of the Woods?'

Caspian gave him anothershove, and left his hand resting on Edmund's waist. For ease of future shoving, Edmund supposed. Caspian honoured Edmund's question with a shrug.

'I trust him,' he said simply. 'I have to trust _someone_. If I can't trust Trumpkin, then…' his voice trailed off, and he suddenly sounded very young. 'What am I to trust? My own judgement?'

'That would be a good start, yes.' Edmund reached out to give Caspian another, even less effective, shove, and left his hand in turn resting on the older man's side. He could feel Caspian's breathing beneath his hand, and he wondered if perhaps it was a little faster than usual. But then, so was his own. 'Of course, your _judgement_ hasn't gotten us very far lately. I suggest you start by trusting any mythological royalty who fall into the sea beside your boat. After all, mythological royalty don't tend to know enough about current politics to have prior alliances.'

Caspian slid his hand around Edmund's waist to his back and pulled him closer. With his free hand he cupped Edmund's face, and there was _definitely_ not enough air in the room anymore. The King's lips on Edmund's were soft and tasted of wine. Edmund made small contented noises and cuddled closer into Caspian's body until the golden lions on their two tunics were pressed together. Caspian's arm was warm and heavy across him, and Caspian's hand was in his hair. He pressed up into Caspian's kiss, wanting more and not knowing what to want. He opened his lips to taste Caspian's breath on his tongue, and felt Caspian shiver against him as Edmund's breath passed over his lips.

When Caspian's tongue flicked over his lips, Edmund started, and shuddered, and pulled back to draw a shaky breath. A look of concern floated across Caspian's face, and it occurred to Edmund that if he were to turn back now, it would serve Caspian right for the way the incident in the cabin had ended. The way their last kiss had ended. Their first kiss. A silly grin broke across his face. They had a _first_ kiss, and a _most recent_ kiss, and a _next_ kiss. What did it matter how the first had ended? And Caspian was grinning back at him, as if the same thought had occurred to him.

Caspian sat up, and Edmund's arms were empty and he felt his face fall. Caspian's eyes danced, and he held out his hand to pull Edmund to his feet. Edmund took it, and took the opportunity while Caspian leant over him to wraphis hand in the King's hair and pull his head down. _Third kiss_, he thought, giddily. Caspian tightened his arms about Edmund's waist and kissed Edmund's face, touching his lips to Edmund's forehead and cheeks and chin carefully and gently time and time again.

'I was _going_,' Caspian said, between placing calculated, teasing kisses on Edmund's neck, 'to sleep on your couch.'

'No-' Edmund sucked in a breath and tightened his grip on Caspian's hair, his free hand sliding further and further down Caspian's back. 'You weren't.'

'Was too.' A nip at Edmund's collarbone.

'Were not.' Caspian's arse was firm and tight under Edmund's hand. He'd spent a lot of time in the saddle. Edmund wondered if there was an inch of the King's body that wasn't all muscle. When even a man's arse spoke of contained force… 'You just _think_ you were.'

'And you think I wasn't?' Caspian was pushing Edmund's tunic up now. His hands roamed over Edmund's arse and then under his shirt. Bare skin on bare skin. Edmund fumbled at Caspian's sword-belt, determined to do the same in return.

'I know you weren't. I wasn't going to let you.'

Caspian raised an eyebrow, and pulled back far enough to remove his own belt. 'Oh. Really.'

Edmund grinned up at him. 'Of course not, idiot. Wouldn't be fair. You've been at sea for _weeks_, I've only been sleeping in a hammock for a few days. _I_ was going to sleep on the couch.'

Caspian laughed andtook Edmund's face in his hands, kissing him soundly. 'The King of Intrigue has a sense of honour after all!' he declared, and, with a wicked grin, he added, 'but this is neither the _time_ nor the _place _for it.'

'Sir, this sort of mockery does not _befit_ a King of Narnia.' Edmund gave Caspian another shove backwards for emphasis. Caspian's eyes softened and he laid his palm to Edmund's cheek for a moment, before moving to take hold of the laces of Edmund's tunic. He paused there;

'May I?'

Edmund answered him with a kiss, and a swift tug on Caspian's own tunic laces, pulling them undone. He went to tug the garment off over Caspian's head, but Caspian caught his wrists and said 'wait.' And then King Caspian the Tenth proceeded to undress King Edmund the Just. He applied himself to Edmund's tunic laces, and drew the garment over Edmund's head with something approaching reverence. He unlaced Edmund's shirt and pressed his hands to Edmund's naked chest. He slid the shirt from Edmund's shoulders and touched kisses to the skin he bared. Edmund quivered, and pulled Caspian's head up to kiss him again. And again. Caspian was running his hands all over Edmund's back, callouses from sword and sail raising goosebumps on his skin. Edmund managed to get Caspian's arms free long enough to tug the King's tunic off before he was pulled back into a tight embrace as he fumbled with the laces of Caspian's shirt. Then he had his hands on Caspian's bare skin, which was smooth, smoother than any man's ought to be, and Edmund supposed that the perfume oil was probably the least of a Telmarine lord's personal care routine. Caspian's chest, when he put his hands to it over it, caused him to break out in giggles. No doubt in Narnia it had been as smooth as a girl's, but now these fighter's muscles were covered in a thin layer of stubble, stubble which had been left untended long enough to be more fuzzy than prickly.

He earnt himself a sharp bite to the lip with his giggles. This was not, he reflected, a bad thing. Then _that_ thought made him giggle, and this time Caspian shoved both of his hands into Edmund's breeches, stroking and kneading his arse, and Edmund moaned and clutched at Caspian's shoulders. Caspian pulled Edmund closer, which pushed Edmund's cock into the space between Caspian's legs, and Caspian's cock was pushing against Edmund and Edmund wasn't sure if his legs were holding him up or it was Caspian's grip on his arse that kept him upright.

As soon as there was space between them again, Edmund was fumbling at their breeches, one set of laces in each hand, but again Caspian stopped him. These laces were undone with the same slow, deliberate care that all the others had been, and Edmund wanted to scream at Caspian to move faster, and Edmund wanted to stop time altogether. Caspian pushed Edmund's hands away from his own breeches again, and took Edmund's wrists and laid him out on the bed, with his arms above his head. He carefully crossed Edmund's wrists and gave them a little push down that said _stay_. Then he kissed Edmund. He kissed his wrists and his forearms and the inside of his elbows and his upper arms and his shoulders and his neck. He kissed Edmund's mouth, pressing their bodies together. Edmund keened in the back of his throat and writhed as Caspian worked his way down his body, to which Caspian's only response was to take Edmund's hips and hold him still.

Caspian kissed his way down the crease in Edmund's thigh and back up the other, and at some point he must have taken hold of Edmund's cock and started stroking, but by now Edmund was losing track of time and sequence, and he could think no further than this very moment. So when Caspian looked up, his mouth hovering over Edmund's cock, and asked again, 'May I?' Edmund was not entirely sure what he was asking, and his response was more of a strangled moan than assent, but Caspian took it in the spirit it was meant and his mouth was warm and wet and his tongue was- oh! Edmund writhed on the bed and Caspian held him steady for what might have been only seconds or might have been hours, Edmund didn't know and didn't care, and then he was arching upwards and he was coming in Caspian's mouth and Caspian was swallowing and Caspian's hands were stroking Edmund's skin and Caspian was making soft noises and pressing kisses into Edmund's thighs.

When Caspian stood up and stripped off his own breeches, Edmund reached sleepily for Caspian's cock, but the King stopped his hand and whispered 'later', and then they were curled up together in the bed, face to face and hand in hand, and Edmund was trying not to fall asleep because that would mean he would have to stop looking at Caspian.

'It's not true, you know,' Caspian murmured. Edmund frowned and tried to remember what it is that wasn't true. For a moment he had the horrible feeling that Caspian meant it wasn't _genuine_, what he'd just done, but Caspian kissed him again, carefully and slowly, and he thought it probably was.

'About mythological royalty.' Ah. What had he said about mythological royalty? Had he said something about mythological royalty not having sex? Had he said something about mythological royalty not falling in _love_? That sounded like the kind of thing he would say. Maybe he said something about mythological royalty not staying around, but _that_ was true, Caspian should know that was true.

Caspian kissed his forehead. 'You don't have prior alliances- although I'd like to think you were my ally last time- but you _do_ have prior loyalties.' Edmund blinked at him, vaguely remembering something said with the sole purpose of earning himself another playful shove. But Caspian was holding his hands and looking very solemn.

'Mythological royalty always has its first loyalty to Narnia,' Caspian said quietly. 'And so if you trust that I am enough, then I will trust myself.'

 


End file.
